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Hi, I'm standing on the corner of 15th Street and Jefferson, and there is a woman lying in the intersection with a bloody face. I don't know what's wrong with her, I think she fell.

"She's lying in the street?"

When I found her she was lying in the middle of the intersection, but now she got up and she's trying to walk. She has two dogs with her, and they are running all over the place, cars are swerving around them.

"Did you see what happened to her?"

No.

"Do you know this woman?"

No.

"What is she wearing?"

Black pants and a pink shirt. The dogs are both white.

"Okay."

Now she's waving her hands at me saying "No no no," she sees me calling you, but there's obviously something wrong with her. She's bleeding pretty bad. I think she doesn't want me to call because she's on drugs.

"What is your phone number?"

(I give her my number.)

"Okay. What is she doing now?"

Now walked over to the corner, where Jefferson street is a dead-end. She crouched down and she's hiding behind a car.

"Why is she hiding behind a car?"

I don't know. But it's pretty obvious something is wrong with her.

"What is she doing behind the car?"

She's just sitting there I guess.

"What car is she hiding behind?"

I don't know, it's a blue car.

"Can you see the license plate on the car?"

No. But the police will see her before they can read the license plate on the car.

"What was she doing when you found her?"

She was laying on the street, face down, and her dogs were running around.

"You didn't see what happened to her?"

No, she was already laying there. So I asked her if she was okay, and she got up but she staggered around for a while, her face is pretty bloody, so she got up and she couldn't walk very well, I don't know if she's high or what is wrong with her, and she keeps saying "No no no," and now she's just sitting on the street. (take a breath) But I'm repeating myself, I'll stop.

"I'm not asking you to repeat yourself, sir, I just asked you a question."

(pause)

Did you just snap at me?

"Um, uh—"

Are you a 911 operator? Are you supposed to give people attitude?

"What direction is she headed now?"

She is hiding behind a car in a dead-end street, she isn't headed anywhere. Why are you being rude? I'm trying to be nice by calling this in.

"Now what is she doing?"

Look, there is a bloody woman sitting on the street at 15th and Jefferson. You can send a cop if you want, it's up to you. I'm hanging up.

The other night, my friend J and I had a hankerin' for ice cream cones, so we ventured over to the McDonald's by my apartment. Other than outrageous tourist traps selling cones for $7, McDonald's is the only choice, and it's a dollar. Plus it is soft-serve, which is apparently lower in fat. It may be all chemicals, but it tastes pretty good. I don't know why I'm justifying our choice like this, I need to move on with my typing here.

So we're in McDonald's, in line, and there are two ladies standing in front of us, feverishly analyzing the cost-effectiveness of the various choices before them. Apparently they only had a couple of dollars. I am guessing, but their gaunt appearance and pasty complexion, they spent the bulk of their cash on meth but needed some fuel before going out to turn tricks. But I'm not one to make snap judgements.

As we were staring at them, J pointed out the taller woman's bag, a deep red plasticy-alligator skin print monstrosity with a silver disc bearing the name "Versace" glued on.

"I think that's a Versace," J said, pronouncing it Showgirls-style, as ver-SAYce. I snickered, not because I cared about the bag either way, but because I love anything Showgirls-related.

And they turned around as we were looking. We seemed rude. Honestly not wanting to offend them, I came up with the quickest story I could.

"This is the color red I want to paint my living room," I said, as I pointed to the bag. Never mind the fact I don't live in a space with a living room, but she didn't know that.

And her friend, the meth-ier of the two, perked up, and launched into an in-depth explanation of the design element known as the "accent wall," painting one wall a bold color to liven up a space. She explained why that shade of red creates depth and warmth, but using it for the entire room would be overpowering.

They then asked for two orders of fries and paid for it in coins.

It was a most educational interaction. As we ate our cones, we saw them pass by the window a few times; I hoped they would come in again, as I needed to ask them what color I should paint my kitchen.

On Saturday, it was a lovely day. But it's usually that way in Miami Beach.

So I took the opportunity to visit the mostly-empty laundromat.

While waiting for the cycle to end, I sat in some chairs against the wall; I was sitting for about 10 minutes when a man walked past, carrying some clothes. "Look in my bag," he said, "there's a surprise in there." And he pointed to a paper bag that, coincidentally, was in the seat next to me.

I hadn't even noticed it. The man kept walking; so with no reason to do otherwise, I took a careful peek over the bag's edge.